Saturday, March 30, 2019


By Caroline Clemmons

I goofed and didn’t have a post up on Friday. I had it planned, just let life get in the way—a tooth extraction and an endoscopy. So glad those are over!

Monk Magonagle is a character introduced in The Most Unsuitable Husband, book 2 of the popular Kincaid Series. So many readers requested a book about him, that I wrote one titled MONK’S BRIDE, book 5 of the Kincaid Series. He finally has his chance at happily-ever-after.

I love Monk, whose real given name is Michael. He was a conman only because he was assigned to look after his foster brother, Nate Bartholomew. Nate and trouble were close friends until Sarah Kincaid taught him about love and family. Monk has a strict code of ethics: no carousing with loose women, no more than two small drinks, no missing church if he’s where one is available.

Now that he’s settled in Kincaid Springs, Monk is President of the Kincaid Springs Bank. He’s considered part of the Kincaid family, for which he is grateful. Longing for a wife and children makes him feel guilty when he has so much more than he ever dreamed would be his.

MONK’S BRIDE will officially release on April 12, but it’s available for preorder now. Don’t you love preorders? I forget I’ve ordered the book until it pops up in my Kindle as if by magic. 

Here’s the Universal Amazon buy link: Of course, if you are a member of KU, the book is free.

Wednesday, March 27, 2019


Whom Shall I Kiss...An Earl, A Marquess, or a Duke?
Tricking the Scoundrels Book 1
Laura A. Barnes

Genre: Historical Romance

What started as a research project soon became a scandal...

She wanted to prove a theory. He wanted to play a game. Can their schemes
lead them towards a kiss of love?

Tired of watching her friends become ruined by the scoundrels of the ton,
Sidney Hartridge devises an experiment to reveal their antics. Her
plan is to lure three gentlemen to kiss her and see how they would
protect her honor. When her research leads her into her own
inappropriate scandal, her father agrees to a wedding offer from one
of her subjects. As her fiancé blackmails her into a marriage she
doesn’t desire, her research becomes exposed. Can Sidney avoid her
own scandal with the one she most desires to kiss?

Noah Wildeburg started this season as any other by flirting with the sweet
new debutantes. When he rescues a lady off the dance floor, he is
unprepared for the emotions she stirs in his soul. As he pursues her,
he realizes he must compete for her hand. As he charms her with
tokens of affections and stolen kisses, he discovers she plays her
own game. Will Noah win Sidney’s love or is she just another
scandal to add to his list?

Whom Shall I Kiss… An Earl, A Marquess, or A Duke? is the first book in Laura A. Barnes new
historical romance series. If you like lighthearted drama filled courtships set in Regency England, then you’ll love this new foray into the ton.

Excerpt – Scene with the Marquess

“Let me be of some assistance, you seem to be in a spot of trouble,” he said as he swooped in and transferred her into his arms.

The bloke stuttered a response which only became drowned out by the orchestra as he swept the young miss away across the dance floor. He glanced down to smile his accomplishment at the miss for her scowl to deepen.

“Who do you think you are, Sir, to interrupt my dance?” she scowled.

“Now is that any way to thank me for rescuing you from broken toes?”

“My toes are not broken, nor were they at any risk to become broken.”

“I disagree with you, my dear, from where I stood you were at a risk of an injury to your person. A very delightful person at that,” he drawled as his eyes took notice of her loveliness.

Sidney’s anger simmered below the surface as she listened to the arrogance of her new dance partner. Not only did he interrupt her experiment, he also had the audacity to expect her to thank him. In addition to his faults she could also add he devoured her with his eyes. His gaze traveled the length of her body up and down, then back again. With every glance they lingered near her breasts, when not there he stared into her eyes. He behaved as a scoundrel of the highest order. A rogue who wished one thing from her, in which she would never grant. Sidney recognized he would be a perfect specimen for her experiment, but her frustration towards him affected her train of thought.

It wasn’t only her frustration towards him which distracted her; it was the touch of his hands against her waist. While he acted as a gentleman, when he held her hand and gently placed his other hand at her hip, his touch heated her insides. The warmth spread from his fingertips as it seeped into her, which caused her to feel flustered. His touch was nothing compared to the smile lighting his eyes.

They were devilish, full of humor which wrapped her in his charm. His eyes begged her to laugh with him of the situation she had found herself in. These emotions were new to her, something she should explore but hesitant to respond to. She needed to be cautious for she was held in the arms of a gentleman who could break her heart if she allowed him. Sidney tamped down her reaction to him and let her analytical brain take over. She could play on these emotions in retrospect for her experiment, use the allure she felt towards him to apply to her theory.

Wilde became cautious as the chit’s expression changed from one of anger to one of flirtation. She coyly lifted her lips into a sensuous pout while her eyes darkened to a midnight blue. Did he glimpse desire in those depths? Caught unaware at her transformation he wasn’t prepared for the siren she became, and he stumbled as he stepped on her toes like the dance partner he rescued her from. No wonder the bloke behaved as a bumbling idiot towards her if she smiled at the chap like she smiled at him now. Her smile was nothing compared to the husky laugh floating between her kissable lips. Lips he desired to taste. Her laugh touched him deeply making him want to hear more. He never felt this instant attraction to any other lady. She wasn’t his usual flavor. He preferred the widows of the ton, not the silly debutantes. Wilde trifled with them from time to time if the attraction presented itself; who was he to refuse temptation? He avoided the parson’s noose like the plague and only fooled around with those who wouldn’t trap him. As delightful as this chit perceived to be, he needed to leave. It was either that or he would embarrass them both by kissing her endlessly on the ballroom dance floor.

“You are correct sir, please accept my apology for doubting your true intentions. You are a hero of the highest order,” Sidney cooed.

By then the orchestra finished playing the current set and prepared for a waltz. He dropped his hands from around her putting distance between them. She held her hands in front of her primly as she tilted her head studying him. He stepped back from her, and she took a small step towards him. Her gaze shifted behind his head and her eyes lit up even more if it were possible. She then took two more steps towards him and he panicked. He retreated only to smack into somebody standing at his back. A hand halted him from falling backwards.

Buy Whom Shall I Kiss… An Earl, A Marquess, or A Duke? to read Laura’s new 
Tricking the Scoundrels series today.

Laura K. Barnes

I am the author of The Romancing the Spies Series. When I am not
writing, I am spending time with my family. I love reading books on
lazy afternoons, and late into the night. Anytime really. Married 28
years to the love of my life and we have three wonderful children and
two sweet grandbabies. Besides writing, I have always wanted to
travel. In the last few years we have gotten our passport stamped in
England, Scotland, and Ireland. We are hoping to add Italy to the
list soon. My debut novel is Rescued By the Captain.

Follow the tour HERE for exclusive content and a giveaway!

Monday, March 25, 2019


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. M. Naidoo will be awarding a $15 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

“Two men... two worlds... one desperate promise...”

If Anna had only known how the simple push of a button would turn her life upside down, she would never have pressed ‘Play.’

Just 22 seconds into the recording she’s hit by the realization that, if the voice in the thick German accent is right, she has been living with an unthinkable lie for the past thirty years.

There is only one way to find out: Follow the instruction left by a dead person and head back to Germany, to a life Anna has next to no conscious memory of.

To her surprise, she finds an unexpected ally in Peter, an old childhood friend whose law degree and language skills prove to be more than useful. Besides, he has the most gorgeous blue eyes and the uncanny ability to push Anna's buttons without the slightest effort. At every turn, their search for answers is littered with more lies and revelations.

Anna must ultimately decide whether even the noblest of ends, truly justify the means and whether some secrets should better stay buried.

Mystery, history, and a twist at every turn. Brilliant characters and prolific storytelling... irresistible!
Buy Link

Read an Excerpt

"Happy now?"

"I'll tell you in a minute." Peter grabbed a cookie and took a slow and careful bite. Like a wine connoisseur would taste a sip of rare, expensive wine, he chewed slowly, eyes closed, a pondering frown on his forehead. Anna waited for the verdict, patiently, while everything in her wanted to pick up a sofa cushion and smack his smug face. She had never been a physical person, but somehow he brought out that side of her. God, could he be any more obnoxious?

"And?" He just had to make her ask, hadn't he?

"Not quite…." He grinned. "But the closest any cookie has ever come. Martha would be proud."

Before she could stop herself, reflex took over, and the sofa cushion landed on the back of Peter's head. Bam!

"Ouch! That hurt!" He rubbed his head and looked at her more in surprise than pain.

"Good." Anna crossed her arms in front of her chest, jaw clenched, eyes shooting off invisible darts.

"Okay, guess I deserved that. Sorry, I'm not usually this…" He was looking for the right word.

"Chauvinistic?" Anna jumped in.

"No. Good one, but not quite." He looked up at the ceiling, still pondering.


"Wow. Don't hold back now."

"Irritatingly annoying?" Anna offered.

"I was going to say delightfully charming," he paused before adding, "or failing at it. Anyway, is that how you treat a friend that's doing you a favor?"

Now it was her turn to apologize. "Sorry." She reached out and offered her hand, "Truce?"

Peter took it, but instead of shaking it he held on and pulled her onto the sofa next to him. "Are we gonna do this or what?"

About the Author

M.Naidoo lives in Northern California with her husband, two daughters, and three dogs. Born and raised in Germany, she was able to draw on a wealth of memories and passed down stories for Where Sleeping Lies Lie.

When she is not in front of her computer, pounding out storylines and characters, she enjoys reading, movies, spending time with her family, and long walks on the beach - her proverbial 'happy place'. M's love for the shore line and ocean shine through in the vivid descriptions of the coast in her debut novel The Pelican.

"Juggling my life as a writer and a full-time 'real' job has its challenges. I don't get to spend half as much time as I'd like doing what I love, and there are never enough hours in the day. Still, I feel extremely lucky to be following my passion, and I am enjoying every minute of it. Getting here has been one heck of a ride!"

Like and follow M. Naidoo on social media

For information about the author, her blog, upcoming releases, and more visit

Buy Link:

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Friday, March 22, 2019


Don't miss the Rafflecopter giveaway at the end of the post!

What a Lord Wants
Capturing the Carlisles Book 5
Anna Harrington

Genre: Historical Romance 


Dominick Mercer, Marquess of Ellsworth, leads a double life. In public, he’s
one of the most respected peers in England. But in private, he’s
notorious Italian painter Domenico Vincenzo, a man known as well for
his scandalous lifestyle as his visionary paintings. He’s
determined to paint a masterpiece and put his real name on it, thus
freeing him from this dual existence that’s becoming difficult to
maintain. The problem? His model is the most unusual woman he’s
ever met and the only one fit for his masterpiece. And she’s
keeping secrets of her own…

Eve Winslow is determined to live life to its fullest by bouncing from
one madcap escapade to another. So when a misunderstanding brings her
to Vincenzo’s studio, she simply cannot refuse the adventure of
being his model, or his rakish charms. Soon Eve’s adventure turns
into scandal, and the only person who can save her is the same man
who causes her downfall—a man who refuses to put anything before
his art, including love.

pick! Sensual and arousing. Harrington spins her tale with care as
she gives her memorable characters a lively plot and depth of emotion
that captivates her fans, who can’t wait for the next chapter.”—
Book Reviews on When the Scoundrel Sins

characters are fabulously crafted and gloriously complicated…the
author balances the dark with a light, witty humor and a sexual
tension that adds sizzle to every scene…How I Married a Marquess is
intense, satisfying, and cleverly unpredictable. Consider me a
freshly minted fan of Harrington’s style of happy ever after.”—
Today’s Happy Ever After blog on How I Married a

creates fast-paced, lively romances with unconventional characters
and plot. For her second novel, she adds heated sensuality and a
gothic twist. There is little doubt that she is fast becoming a fan
RT Book
Reviews on Along Came a Rogue

**easily read as a standalone!!**

Taking a deep breath, Evie approached the carriage house, then hesitated. The green double doors hung open wide, and she peered inside. She frowned. This couldn’t be right.

A large room filled with rows of canvases in wide-ranging sizes and in various stages of completion greeted her. Worktables lining the walls held brushes, jars of paint and bladders of pigments, and various metal tools of all kinds. Through the open doors, the woody scent of linseed oil engulfed her. A large easel stood in the middle of the floor, facing a cream-colored chaise longue.

Ellsworth’s man had misunderstood. Clearly. Instead of sending her to the painting, he’d sent her to a painting studio.

“Good afternoon,” a deep voice drawled from the rear of the carriage house.
And apparently directly to the artist himself.

She caught her breath as he sauntered forward. He circled her as she stood in the doorway, half of her in the studio and the other half wondering if she should flee. He moved slowly, with the natural grace of an athlete and with the deep attention of a scientist whose dark eyes coolly assessed her.

She swallowed. No one had ever looked at her this blatantly before. And certainly not a man so scandalously undressed in shirtsleeves and a paint-speckled brown waistcoat, with the unbuttoned collar of his shirt open wide enough to reveal his bare neck and the faint teasing of dark hair on his chest. So she did what any young lady in her situation would have done.

She looked back.

He was handsome, in a rugged, unkempt sort of way, and nothing at all like the polish of Burton Williams and her gentlemen friends. His thick, black hair spilled in an unruly mass of curls that framed his face and accentuated the dark color of his brown eyes and the faint scruff of a three-day old beard. His mouth tightened in concentration as he scrutinized her, and her pulse beat faster as she stood perfectly still, her gaze following him warily.

“Eads sent you, then?”

Eads…That must have been the butler’s name. “Yes.”

“You’ve done this before, then?” He stopped in front of her and folded his arms across his chest, drawing the shirt tight across his shoulders and giving her a glimpse of just how well developed his body was beneath.

“Never,” she answered honestly. Usually footmen were sent to fetch important goods. “Ellsworth’s man said that I should—”

“Ellsworth?” His face hardened. “You went to Mercer House?”

She forced a smile. “Well, yes. I mean, that is where—”

“You’re never to go there again, understand? You’re to keep absolute silence about me and my studio.”

Well, that would be easy. “Who are you?”

His eyes narrowed for a confused beat. “You don’t know?” Then the anger smoothed from his brow, and he laughed. The rich and deep sound spun through her down to her toes. “I’m Domenico Vincenzo, the man who’s going to hire you.”

No. That was impossible…He was the famous Italian painter? The man as notorious for his scandalous lifestyle as for the erotic subjects of his paintings? She’d been sent to the man himself!
Then the rest of his statement slapped her— Hire her?

“There’s been a mistake,” she ventured breathlessly. “There was a lot of confusion at Mercer House, and I think—”

“The Pall Mall picture gallery. That’s probably why Eads got confused and sent you there first.”

She blinked. “Pardon?”

“The Marquess of Ellsworth is a patron of the Royal Academy of Arts and a noted collector of art. The British Institution has been trying to coax him into joining their organization, and so this year they’ve attempted to flatter him into a membership by asking him to lend several of his paintings to their old masters exhibition.” An amused gleam lit his eyes. “If the porters arrived today to take the collection to Pall Mall, then Mercer House must have been in an uproar.”

Somehow she’d lost control of the conversation. She tried again. “I’m here for the painting.”

He shook his head. “Pigments and canvases are expensive. We’ll start with a few sketches first to see if you have the spark to be a model before I paint you.”

Her mouth fell open. He thought she was…? “I’m not a model.”

“So you said, that you’ve never done this before. You’re an actress or a singer, barmaid, prostitute—”

“I am not!”

He grimaced. “And not at all what I expected.” Once again, he raked his gaze up and down her body, this time much slower than before and more akin to the one the young man had given her in the alley. While that man-boy’s leering had set her teeth on edge, this man’s gaze heated her from the inside out.

“But you have potential,” he murmured as he took her chin in his paint-speckled fingers and turned her face gently to each side, studying her. “Delicate bone structure, skin like porcelain, the slight stature of a waif but with deceivingly ample curves…”

Folding her arms in front of those same curves, she flushed, certain that the porcelain skin he’d complimented was now scarlet. “I don’t think—”


Beautiful. She stared at him, her protest forgotten. With a single word, he’d stunned her speechless.

He dropped his hand away, then turned to step back inside the studio. He grabbed up a pile of clothes lying across the chaise and handed them to her.

“You can change behind the screen in the corner. And hurry up.” He gestured for her to come inside. “You’ve already arrived too late in the day. If you waste any more time, we’ll lose all of our light.”

Eve stared, utterly bewildered, yet oddly excited as a quiet thrill curled through her. For the first time in two months she felt energized, adventurous, daring…alive. The roiling mix of emotions tingled to the tips of her fingers and toes with wild anticipation. Oh, it was simply divine! And exactly what she’d been missing from her recently boring life.

She looked at the costume in her hand. She should stop Mr. Vincenzo right now and explain the mistake and how she was there to retrieve a painting, not pose for one. That she was a respectable young miss—well, as respectable as a shipping merchant’s daughter could ever be—and not someone who was paid to let men look at her, on stage, in a painting, or otherwise. But if she explained herself, the precious freedom she’d found this afternoon would be snuffed out, and the oppressive dread would press in around her once more.

Yet if she remained…An adventure.

And anyway, what harm was there in missing the breakfast and pretending to be a model? Society women paid thousands of pounds to have their portraits painted, and there was certainly nothing scandalous about that. They bragged about it, in fact. No one would ever know that she’d been here. And what was the worst that could happen, that he would be angry with her when he learned that she knew nothing about being a model? If he was going to be angry and send her away anyway, then—

“Well?” he called out. “Are we going to do this or not?”

With a deep breath to tamp down the excitement coursing through her, she stepped inside.

Anna Harrington, Author

I love good stories that end in happily ever afters, and if they’ve
made me cry along the way, even better. That’s why I love to write
romances and to share those special moments. Dashing heroes,
independent heroines, and romantic settings in a some English country
estate or elegant townhouse, perhaps a masquerade...all the things I
love about historical romances, all the things I hope you’ll enjoy
when you read mine.

Follow the tour HERE
for exclusive content and a giveaway!

Wednesday, March 20, 2019


A Lesson On Love
Jenkins and Sons Construction Series Book 3
Sharon C. Cooper

Genre: Contemporary Romance 

Some lessons are harder to learn than others.

Jerry Jenkins is a player. He loves women. Curvy women. Soft women. He's
unapologetically drawn to full-figured women. With all the beauties
in the world, he has no intention of settling down with just one. Not
until Rayne Ellison moves in next door. But the curvaceous beauty
doesn’t fall for his charm. Still, she's the only woman who has him
willing to shred his bachelor’s card.

If there’s one lesson single mom Rayne learned over the years, it’s
to avoid players. Been there, done that. Barely survived. No way will
she fall prey to another ladies’ man. She has one focus—raising
her daughter, but there’s something so magnetic about Jerry. Rayne
agrees to be friends, but nothing more. At least that’s what she tells herself.

When tragedy strikes, Rayne is ready to give up, but it’s Jerry who
keeps her afloat. He breaks down her defenses and, in the process,
gives her a lesson on love.

**easily read as a standalone!**

Enjoy an Excerpt:

Grabbing the water pitcher from the refrigerator, Rayne poured them both a glass. “Tonight, was fun,” she said.

“I agree, and I’m glad you had a good time. Does that mean you’ll consider going out with me again…and again after that?” He flashed that sexy grin that sent heat rushing through her body.

Smiling, Rayne shook her head. She didn’t dare tell him that the thought had popped into her head on the way to his parents’ house. Even though she knew it was just fear keeping her from dating anyone, she still couldn’t seem to get past her experience with Kirk. But what she did know, was Jerry was nothing like him. He was a good man, and Rayne was lucky to have him in her life…even as a friend.

“I don’t think you should wait on me, Jerry. Find someone you can have a future with.”

“That someone is you.”

“That someone needs to be a person who wants to get married. Someone who can make you happy, because I already know you’re going to be a wonderful husband.” Those words left Rayne’s mouth dry. The thought of him with another woman made her stomach hurt, but she was still too damaged for a relationship…and scared.

Jerry gulped half the contents of his glass before setting it on the counter. “That someone could be you.”

“We’re not doing this back and forth dance tonight,” she said, a little disappointed in herself. Here she had this great guy who wanted to get to know her even better, and she was pushing him away, again.

Jerry brushed the back of his fingers down Rayne’s cheek, and her skin tingled from the contact. “I thought you wanted a family.”

“I do…I did,” she added quickly. “Actually, I have a family—Stormy.”

Rayne lowered her eyes and stared down at the floor, but felt the heat of his gaze. Her desire to have a big family hadn’t diminished. She just couldn’t see herself getting married again. Trusting had never come easy, and after Kirk’s deception, Rayne had vowed never to rely on a man again. But she’d be lying if she said that Jerry didn’t tempt her to do just that. Spending time with him, she’d felt special, treasured. Feelings she hadn’t experienced in years, if ever.

He tilted her chin, forcing her to look at him, and their eyes locked on each other. He really was a gorgeous man with smooth, dark skin and those penetrating eyes that Rayne could easily get lost in.
But then her eyes dropped to his full, kissable lips, and she swallowed hard. She had told herself that their outing tonight wasn’t a real date. It was just two friends hanging out and celebrating his birthday, but she really wouldn’t mind kissing her friend again.

Award-winning and bestselling author, Sharon C. Cooper, is a romance-a-holic - loving
anything that involves romance with a happily-ever-after, whether in
books, movies, or real life. Sharon writes contemporary romance, as
well as romantic suspense and enjoys rainy days, carpet picnics, and
peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. She’s been nominated for
numerous awards and is the recipient of an Emma Award for Romantic
Suspense of the Year 2015 (Truth or Consequences), Emma Award -
Interracial Romance of the Year 2015 (All You’ll Ever Need), and
BRAB (book club) Award -Breakout Author of the Year 2014. When Sharon
is not writing or working, she’s hanging out with her amazing
husband, doing volunteer work or reading a good book (a romance of
course). To read more about Sharon and her novels, visit

Follow the tour HERE
for exclusive content and a giveaway!

Monday, March 18, 2019


Don't miss the Rafflecopter giveaway at the end of this post!

In addition, this book is on sale for 99 cents during the tour!

The Tursiops Syndrome

by John C. Waite

GENRE: Thriller

How do you get a nuke into the heart of the city? Maybe a dolphin can help. From Author John Waite, the tale of a police detective who matches wits with a mad scientist and terrorists intent on destroying America. When detective Hickory Logan joins Park Ranger Kevin Whitehead investigating the mysterious death of a dolphin she finds herself sucked into a far deeper whirlpool. Can she and Kevin stop the tide of terror that threatens to kill thousands or will they be fodder for a nuclear fireball?

A newspaper review described Tursiops thus: "The writing is, well, wonderful. Waite has a gift for dialogue and story-telling, and his plot is adventurous and perfectly paced. "


Red Logan hunkered down next to the Humvee's left front wheel. He folded his lanky frame in several places to assure that the vehicle shielded him from rifle fire emanating from the house a hundred feet away.

A furious fusillade had greeted A-Company, first battalion, 407th Special Forces when their vehicles pulled to a halt in front of what was a rather strange building for northern Afghanistan. In the early morning darkness it looked for all the world like a California ranch-style home.

But there was no BMW parked in the driveway.

The firefight lasted less than fifteen minutes. There was only an occasional round pinging off the slate-riddled soil and infrequent bursts of automatic fire keeping the soldiers from charging the structure. Red wondered why the squads weren’t using some of the heavier weapons. He knew the unit armament included shoulder-fired missiles and a Carl Gustav 84-mm recoilless rifle but so far, the big stuff had been silent.

The tip had placed Azam al-Zawahiri, Al-Qaeda's chief organizer for nine-eleven, in the house.

Numerous such tips over the past two years had come to nothing. Most of them originated in minds overly-motivated to garner the twenty million American dollars offered for the capture of several of the world’s most wanted terrorists.

At least one Osama bin Laden look-alike had been found dead. And it took weeks before authorities identified the body. The man had been killed and left in a house to which an Afghan citizen directed U.S. forces. Not only did he not get the reward he sought, but his countrymen also jailed him for mutilating the corpse by cutting off its hands and feet.

Army intelligence, a title Red thought oxymoronic, had considered tonight’s tip more credible than most since it had come in anonymously. The tipster hadn’t mentioned the reward. So the Special Forces unit had headed out in the predawn darkness for a two-hour drive north from Kabul into the mountainous terrain.


The voice belonged to the figure squeezed into the wheel well behind him.

He could barely see Jessie’s sinewy shape, strangely gawky where the video camera and its now-dark lights rested on her right thigh.

“Yeah, what?” he whispered.

“Should I get some video?” Jessie asked, cocking her left hand back over her shoulder.

“Hell no. We're reporters, not soldiers. CNN's not paying us to get shot. Just keep your ass down. There's nothing to shoot."

Before he could finish his sentence, an amplified Afghan voice rang out from the vicinity of the lead Humvee, imploring the occupants of the house to surrender. The answer was a three-shot rifle volley, the rounds pinging off the hard-pack and whining away into the darkness.

“Now,” Jessie said, pushing past Red and swinging the camera onto her shoulder, leaning on the Hummer’s hood.

“No.” Red yelled, trying to pull her to the ground. But it was too late. The light on Jessie’s camera flared brilliantly then died in a crash of glass and the harsh double bark of a Kalashnikov. The rounds zinged away into the darkness, but Red heard in the report the crunch of bone.

“Jessie.” he screamed.

Guest Post from John C. Waite

Growing up in the suburbs of New Orleans (Kenner) I wasn’t aware of just how different my youth was from the lives of kids who grew up in “middle America.” Those were the days of the Marcello crime family, and the intimate mix of politics and the underworld. But despite that there was little visible street crime, no thugs on street corners selling stuff from paper bags. There was nothing to keep me indoors (and out of trouble) and I “ran the streets” without fear of official or parental rebuke. My friends and I prowled the woods and swamps without care, garnering an intimate knowledge of woodlands and swamps, of geometric social differentiations (the good part of town versus the bad part) and where to catch the biggest snakes, which we would sell to the local snake farm for a quarter, which was the price of a pack of Camels at the drugstore. Of course, I was buying them for my father.

                The drug store also had a soda fountain, which often got the little we earned stomping the wilds. It often got also the allowance provided by my parents who thought such was a necessity for an elementary school kid. In retrospect, it was a grand and free childhood, one that I now cherish in memory, which, I’m sure, paints the time in brighter colors than the time deserves.

                Yes, I loved it.
                My younger brother would often, figuratively, hang onto my coattails when I headed out with my friends, and to this day I regret not giving him more time. If anything, he was smarter than I was, but we fought a lot and I thought of him as a burden on my social life, particularly when I began to find girls interesting and attractive. The thing about girls was, I didn’t know why they were so different. So I developed the hobby of spending a lot of time at the local library, sneaking into the adult sections, and reading books about sex. I got caught doing that a couple of times and had my library privileges temporarily revoked. But I learned the basics about anatomical differences. What the books didn’t teach me, however, was the social and emotional impacts of those differences. I’m still not sure about them.
I rode buses to school until I became a senior, then acquired a hand-me-down car, a 1954 Crosley, a tiny station wagon with a bad clutch. But it was a car and having that put me in a more socially acceptable status, particularly when it came to dating. And having the car enabled me to put to use some of the things I had learned about sex from the books I had read several years before sneaking around the library. Luckily there were benevolent parents on both sides, and a church wedding legalized everything.
While in high school my best friend and I had seriously considered becoming a marine biologists, but things changed as we entered college and we went our separate ways, He graduated as a US Marine ROTC candidate and joined the corps, and wound up dying in Vietnam. I discovered my love of the English language and earned a degree in journalism. I then went from there to both broadcast and print journalism, eventually winding up back in deep south Louisiana, New Orleans, and lesser known communities further south, in Cajun country.
During those years I won a number of awards for journalistic endeavors both  in print and in broadcast formats. Those were still tumultuous years socially, with one marriage ending and another following a couple of years later. Those marriages produced four great kids, three girls and one boy, now healthy and active adults.
Perhaps I’m getting a bit too personal.
So, I’ve been writing all of my life, professionally. I always thought I would write a book or three, but always put most of that energy into my reporting. At a point when I felt I wasn’t being sufficiently rewarded for my efforts, I quit the profession and became a merchant mariner, a field that paid much better than journalism. I drove big boats for the next almost twenty years. I have visited most ports on both the east and west coasts, traversed the Panama Canal a couple of times, sailed to Hawaii and back, and spent time offshore and inland in the Pacific northwest. And, of course, some of those experiences have found their way into my fiction. While I started writing my novels years ago, I published them, plus a book of short stories and a middle-grade youth sci-fi adventure only a couple of years ago. Still have quite a few projects in the works.
As for the actual writing, I have a studio in my apartment where I assemble most of my projects. It’s a pleasant place with a view of a golf course across the way, and quick access to downtown Pensacola, a city that has grown from a sleepy sort of village into a bustling almost metropolis. The condo is on the bay, and I confess that all to often I catch myself just sitting and dreaming instead of plotting.
Plotting is one of the sunniest parts of writing fiction. I believe in the Elmore Leonard approach. Design the character and the situation, and the action will flow from there. Some things I have written started with the plot, but usually the plot stems from what the character will do on the stage you have set for him or her. When I am starting a book I sketch the opening, then the close. Sometimes the plot won’t let you end it the way you planned, but the plan will still affect the end.
I try to write daily, even if it is only a few graphs. I think that’s necessary just to keep an edge on Occam's Razor. Simple solutions are better than complex ones. Thus part of the author’s work is to simplify. And that can be tough.
Writing should also be enjoyable. I started to say it should be fun, but that implies something that might lack meaning. You want the story to have meaning, and you want to enjoy creating that meaning. I have some fun with things that I don’t actually publish. I have a part time job working for a funeral home as a driver. We transport corpses, sometimes locally and sometimes long distant. When I’m driving I often initiate conversations with the person who once occupied the body i’m moving. Yeah, I know it sounds strange, but those talks have helped me pass many hours  on the road, and given me insights into my motivations and feelings.

               In my writing I am not trying to preach, politicize, or criticize. I am merely trying to tell a tale someone would enjoy. If I help someone enjoy a part of his or her day, I’m satisfied.

John C. Waite

Thousands of author John C Waite’s words flew past Alpha Centauri years ago, heading for the center of the galaxy, perhaps sparking an arthropod’s grin in route. Waite, a degreed journalist and retired Merchant Mariner has numerous writing and broadcasting awards to his credit, and millions of words in print and broadcast media. Originally from New Orleans he has called Panhandle Florida his home for fifty years, but still retains a taste for things Creole and Cajun. A recreational and professional sailor, his travels have covered the Caribbean, the Atlantic and Pacific coasts, portions of south and Central America, Canada, Hawaii, Ireland, Britain, and Europe. John resides in Pensacola, Florida. He is a father to four, and grandfather to four. His books are available on Amazon.

The book will be on sale for $0.99 during the tour!


John C. Waite will be awarding a $50 Gift Certificate to to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Friday, March 15, 2019


 photo SouthPointe_ebook_Final_small_zpsj3fueazk.jpg

Mystery & Suspense

By Diana Wilkes

Date Published: February 6, 2018
Publisher: RedBird Books

 photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png

Paige Carson never expected that both a handsome sheriff and a charismatic newcomer would be vying for her affections. The choice isn’t an easy one, as she’s now responsible for raising her orphaned goddaughter, Jess.

Sheriff Sam Wallace didn’t lose at love. He got kicked to the curb. Hopeful that courting the feisty Paige will end differently, he can't help but feel suspicious about his romantic rival. Is Ben Hampshire the man he seems—or is Sam’s jealousy clouding his perspective?

Sam’s determined to win Paige’s and Jess’s love, but he also has to keep Providence Island safe. More than just Sam’s heart is at risk if he fails to find the killer who walks the streets of PI—a killer with more than one agenda.

Dana locked the door after Ben departed and set the Closed. Please call again sign in place.
She’d lied to Ben about the reason for her fainting. Yes, she’d skipped breakfast. Yes, it was hot, and yes, she’d become dizzy. But the truth was she’d panicked when Ben had passed by the front windows.

A shadow fell across the front windows, and she caught a glimpse of blonde hair. The front door opened, spilling sunlight into the lobby.

Maisie was right when she’d described the young man as “a charmer.” His kind humor and gracious manners had put Dana at ease, despite her embarrassment.

One thing was certain. She had to break this cycle of panic every time she came to the office. Her gaze shifted to the area where Kyle Lansing had stood.

She grabbed the cast-iron hummingbird from the side table and swung the metal statue in a sharp arc. The blow slammed against Lansing’s upraised arm. He howled, and the gun fell from his hand. She swung again, this time catching the detective in the chest. Lansing stumbled backward. She dropped the sculpture and snatched up the gun.

That’s when the shadow had swept past the windows. The glimpse of blonde hair had frightened her that it was Jamie returning to the building, and she wouldn’t be able to protect the both of them.

The entry wall blocked the newcomer from her sight. She stepped back. There wasn’t much room to retreat, but each inch might make a difference in saving her life.

Lansing cast a glance over one shoulder. “What are you doing here, Ham—”

The first two shots hit Lansing in the torso. A third shot struck his head. Blood sprayed as he dropped to the floor. She gripped the gun, waiting for the stranger to step forward. Sunlight spilled once more in the lobby entrance. A rush of air and sounds from outside drifted inward as the shadow of the shooter moved away. The door closed, cutting off the sunlight.

Dana gripped the edge of Jamie’s desk as Lansing’s final words echoed in her ears.

“What are you doing here, Ham—


A chill rushed through her body, and she closed her hands into fists to keep them from shaking. She dared a glance at the front door as if expecting a face to be staring back at her. “Was it you, Ben?”

And if the shooter had been Ben Hampshire, how long was he willing to keep her and her loved ones safe?

 photo DiannaWilkes_zpsbnv4sncv.jpg
Dianna Wilkes is an award-winning contemporary romance author, known for the Providence Island mystery series.

Reading has always been an important part of her life. “I learned to read when I was four years old,” she said. “Writing my own stories seemed a natural progression.”

Dianna holds a B.A. in Visual Communication and a M.Ed. in Instructional Technology. She worked as an Education Consultant for a medical technology company before leaving the corporate world to write full time. Despite all that nerdy stuff, she loves creating stories of romance and mystery with touches of humor.

When she isn’t writing, Dianna is deep in researching various twigs and branches on her family tree or fulfilling entries on her travel bucket list.

Contact Links

Purchase Links